' when
some time had passed, they went to call her, but it wor no use, for her
spirit had goan to tend Burt's babby.

After shoo wor buried, some papers were picked aght o' one o' Sally's
boxes, and it were sed' at they explained all, but what they were Burt
an' his wife nivver telled, so it still remains a mystery.

At th' grave side stood a fine young chap, who dropt monny a tear as th'
coffin wor lowered. He wor sed to be verry like that strange sailor 'at
had once before visited th' village. When Burt passed him he gave him a
purse, sayin' "for a gravestone," and went away noabody knew whear. Some
sed it was Sally's brother, but noabody seems to know.

Anybody 'at likes to tak a walk an' call at that little graveyard can
see a plain stoan 'at says

SALLY BRAY,
AN'
BURT'S BABBY.

Mak th' best on't.

They say it taks nine tailors to mak a man. Weel, all aw have to say
abaat it is, 'at aw've known some men i' mi time, 'at it ud tak nineteen
to mak a tailor. Why some simpletons seem to think 'at they've a right
to mak fun ova chap becoss he's a tailor, aw can't see. They're
generally praad enuff o' ther clooas--then why not be praad o' th' fowk
'at mak 'em. Ther's a deal o' fowk 'at wodn't be as weel off as they are
if it worn't for th' tailors. But it's noa use tawkin, for ther's some
'at couldn't live if they didn't find summat to say a word agean.

A little word 'at's easy sed,
Sometimes may heal a smart;
A cruel word or luk instead,
May help to braik a heart.

Men hang together like a chain,
Tho' varied be ther plan;
Each link hangs by another link,
Man hangs to brother man.

But a gooid word throo some is as scarce as a white crow. They're
iverlastingly lukking aght for faults an' failins, an' gooid words an'
gooid deeds are things they niver think are due to onnybody but thersen.

Life's pathway could oft be made pleasant,
If fowk wor to foller this plan;
Throo a prince ov the throne to a peasant,
To do a gooid turn when they can.

But they'll nawther do a gooid turn thersen nor let onybody else do one
if they can help it. They seem to be born wi' soa mich eliker i' ther
blooid 'at if they come i' contact wi' ony sweet milk o' human kindness,
'at it curdles it. Whether it's ther own fault or th' fault o' ther
mother aitin too many saar gooisberries before they wor born aw can't
tell. Aw've met some soa ill contrived 'at they